


as all our stars watch over us

by wordstruck



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Greek Mythology, Falling In Love, God of Death!Victor, Greek Mythology - Freeform, Hades and Persephone AU, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-03
Updated: 2018-06-03
Packaged: 2019-05-17 14:58:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,949
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14834474
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wordstruck/pseuds/wordstruck
Summary: The god’s eyes widen in recognition. “You are Hiroko’s child,” he says, and there is something almost a smile at the corners of his mouth.“Yes.” Yuuri should leave, should turn and return to the stream, the fields, the sunshine. “And you are Hades.”This time the god does smile; it morphs into a laugh, light and sweet. “Hades is my kingdom, yes,” he says, holding out a hand. Yuuri takes it, hesitant; he watches as the god of the dead and damned lifts it to his lips for a kiss.“But you may call me Victor.”(A Victuuri AU inspired by the myth of Hades and Persephone.)





	as all our stars watch over us

**Author's Note:**

> This is one of the Victuuri fics I wrote for my Victuuri fic zine for YOICon 2018 -- a piece inspired by the myth of Hades and Persephone. It's a sweet one-shot, but I had a lot of fun writing this. And Victor as the God of Death is a favorite concept of mine XD I also think this is the first time I've written a fic that has nothing italicized, which is a personal achievement in itself -- who knew?
> 
> For Hana.

* * *

 

It begins on a summer day, quiet and bright. Yuuri wanders the stream at the boundary of the fields of Thriasian, not minding as the hem of his robes grows damp. The water is cool to his feat; the wind brushes his hair.

In the realm of the goddess of grain and harvest, the day is tranquil.

Past the border of the stream lies a forest, deep and ancient. Yuuri has never entered, but something about the day, about a sudden curiosity that grips him -- something compels him to take a tentative step from the stream, then another. The quiet here is different, tangible; an invisible press against the body. The quiet creeps over Yuuri’s skin like a touch both intimate and unfamiliar.

He makes his way through the trees slowly, carefully.

The quiet steals over him like the waters of the stream he has left behind.

Time seems to slow under the leaves and muted sunlight, slipping by between breaths. Yet Yuuri cannot have been here long when he hears a voice from behind him.

“I do not think I have seen you here before.”

It startles him from his reverie. Yuuri whirls around, eyes wide and breath catching. He sees sweeping silver hair, high cheekbones, pale skin; a soft, black cloak that sweeps to the forest floor. Eyes like the shallow oceans.

Yuuri had never known the God of Death would be beautiful.

“Where do you come from?” the god asks. His voice is soft, gentle; no prelude to thunder and horror as the stories had led Yuuri to believe. If he had not recognized the crown of bleached wood and bone that sat proudly on the god’s temples, he might have thought him any other man.

“Thriasian,” Yuuri answers, when he finds his voice.

The god’s eyes widen in recognition. “You are Hiroko’s child,” he says, and there is something almost a smile at the corners of his mouth.

“Yes.” Yuuri should leave, should turn and return to the stream, the fields, the sunshine. “And you are Hades.”

This time the god does smile; it morphs into a laugh, light and sweet. “Hades is my kingdom, yes,” he says, holding out a hand. Yuuri takes it, hesitant; he watches as the god of the dead and damned lifts it to his lips for a kiss.

“But you may call me Victor.”

 

Later, when Yuuri has crossed the stream and returned to the lands of his mother, he brushes his hands along the tall grass and thinks about the sensation of lips brushing over his skin.

He does not tell anyone about meeting Victor.

 

Curiosity had compelled Yuuri to enter the borders of Hades, and curiosity compels him now again. He steals past the border of trees, looking around him. There is no guarantee that the God of Death will be here, will come to meet him, but a small part of Yuuri holds out hope, that perhaps, perhaps--

“I did not think you would return,” Victor says, smiling, and Yuuri should not feel so relieved.

“I did not think you would find me,” he answers.

“I know everyone who crosses into Hades,” Victor points out, holding out a hand to Yuuri again. He does not kiss Yuuri’s hand this time, simply pulls him along to lead him further into the woods. And Yuuri goes willingly, almost eagerly. He leaves the sounds of the stream and the wind behind.

They reach a small clearing, sun-warm and pleasant. A small but lavish banquet has been spread over the grass, fruit and bread and wine. Victor gestures for Yuuri to sit.

He almost does, but a recollection makes him hesitate.

Victor understands immediately.

“You need not worry,” he says, smiling graciously. For a moment there is a flash of -- something, in his eyes, but Yuuri must have imagined the hurt he had seen. “These are all from the earth, I promise.”

Yuuri returns the smile with ease, and sits down. “Thank you,” he offers, and reaches for a small loaf of bread. It’s still warm.

They take their time together, idle conversation and easy companionship. Victor tells him little of Hades, turning his stories instead to Olympus, and the lands of the other gods, and those of humans. Yuuri is content to listen, and watch the sun dapple Victor’s hair, turning it to starlight.

It surprises him when Victor eventually stands and holds out a hand. “It is late,” he says, as he pulls a bemused Yuuri to his feet, “and you should return home.”

Yuuri looks to the sky, startled by the pink and red streaks that tell him the sun is beginning to set. “I’m sorry,” he says, turning back to Victor a little guiltily. “I didn’t mean to keep you so long.”

Victor smiles and shakes his head. “It was my pleasure,” he replies. “Yuuri.”

It is the first time Victor says his name, but in his voice it already sounds well-worn and familiar.

Yuuri carries the echoes of it with him all the way home.

 

So it goes; Yuuri steals away from Thriasian as he can, crosses over the stream and slips into the forest. Some days, Victor is there waiting, bright eyes and brighter smile. Other times, Yuuri passes the time reading under the trees until Victor comes to find him.

Victor himself is always courteous, sometimes even indulgent. He plies Yuuri with food, always taken from the fields of humans or from Thriasian. He brings little gifts -- small flowers that take days to wilt; brilliantly colored crystals strung together as jewelry; a cloak woven by the daughters of Minyas. He’d wrapped it around Yuuri so carefully, and more than the luxuriant softness, Yuuri remembers better the warmth of Victor’s touch through the cloth.

He asks, one afternoon, because the question has been a long time coming, “why do you give these to me?”

Victor’s expression is wry and unrevealing as he looks at Yuuri for a few moments. There is something not quite right about his smile. “Why do you keep coming here?”

It is unfair, Yuuri thinks, to answer question with question, although Victor’s has been a long time coming as well. He sits quiet for a while, looking at the gift Victor had given him earlier -- a spread of curling poplar leaves made from beaten metal.

In the end, his answer is simple and honest. “I enjoy this,” he admits, turning the metalwork over in his hands. “Being here, with you.”

When he looks up, Victor has a searching look in his eyes, as if he had expected a far different answer. Yuuri finds himself made discomfited by the weight of Victor’s gaze, but something in it compels him not to look away.

“You are not afraid of me,” Victor says, and it is not a question.

Yuuri blinks, caught off-guard. “You have never given me reason to be.” The smile that unfurls on Victor’s mouth is small, and tentative, and beautiful.

“I am glad,” he says, and there is a warmth blooming in Yuuri’s lungs.

 

He returns home in the twilight. The spread of leaves he places on the mantle above his fireplace. Yuuri goes to make himself dinner, takes note that he should make a trip to the market in the morning. He could visit his sister while he’s there.

He sets his plate on the small table, the jug of water.

The little room is very quiet.

 

He is spared a trip to the market the next day by a visit from his mother. Hiroko bustles into his small house, baskets laden with food to last Yuuri a while. He welcomes her warm smile and warmer hug, is more than happy to share breakfast with her for the morning.

But after the meal, as Yuuri is picking at the last of his bread, his mother reaches over. Her small, gentle hand brushes over his cheek, cups his face.

“Something has touched you,” she says, and worry furrows her brow. Yuuri feels his chest tighten and hopes nothing shows in his face. He never likes keeping secrets from his mother, but he does not know how to tell her.

“Maybe I just need more sun,” he quips instead, and hopes he keeps his expression light.

There is still concern in her eyes when she withdraws her hand, but his mother does not press. They talk of his sister, and the upcoming festival, and Hiroko leaves with one last embrace of her son.

After she has gone, Yuuri ghosts his fingers over his cheek and wonders what one is like when one has been touched by the God of Death, and come away with warmth instead.

 

It takes a surprising number of moons before Victor asks, hesitantly, if Yuuri would like to see the rest of his kingdom. Yuuri has heard tell of the land of the dead and damned, rife with souls both in eternal torment and eternal rest; of the dark river Styx, of the monsters that haunt its grounds. But Yuuri had also heard that the God of Death was a terrible and ancient being, and yet Victor has been nothing but kind and sweet.

“There is more to Hades than this forest,” Victor says, and while his tone is off-handed, he avoids looking Yuuri in the eye. His nervousness is unexpectedly endearing.

For the first time since they met, it is Yuuri who reaches out, the lightest brush of his fingers over the back of Victor’s hand. His smile is open, heartfelt. “Will you show me?” 

And Victor -- Victor looks up in such sincere, childlike relief and delight. He takes Yuuri’s hand, pulls him to his feet, beaming. “Come,” he says, and then they are moving further into the trees. The ground slopes gently downward, until suddenly, there is a stone staircase descending into the earth.

Yuuri follows Victor down without hesitation. He does not let go of Victor’s hand.

 

The fields of Asphodel stretch around them, miles and miles, out to the horizon. Yuuri walks among the flowers and looks out, then up to the serene and empty sky. A light breeze blows through the grass.

Victor leads him forward, to where the white castle of Hades stands proud and gleaming. They are almost at the gates when Yuuri realizes something strange.

“Why is there no one here?” he asks, turning to look back out over Asphodel. He sees no wandering souls, no people of the dead. Only their ruler.

Victor turns as well, gazing over his realm. His tone is light, careful. “To see those of Hades, one must be of Hades.” And Yuuri’s home is far from here, a small cottage in the fields of Thriasian. It is not the white of the underworld, the muted colors, the rustle of wind like whispers.

“Come,” Victor says again, shattering the fine edge of tension between them. He takes Yuuri’s hand again, takes him through the gates, to the forecourt.

Yuuri does not look back.

 

Now that he has visited once, Victor is more open to bringing Yuuri to the underworld, to show him what belongs to the afterlife. And like its ruler, Yuuri finds that there is more to Hades than the stories and gossip. Victor takes him to the Garden of the Hesperides with its bright, golden apples; to the river Eridanus, in a land perpetually in twilight, the water sparkling like it held all the sky’s constellations. He shows Yuuri the field of Elysium, with its flowers never known to the living, and its shores at which the ocean ended.

He gives Yuuri free reign of the castle, allows him to explore as he likes -- and Yuuri finds wonder after wonder in every room. A library far more extensive than he might ever dream, full of the history of gods and mankind; a hall with all the offerings that heroes and ordinary men have made to the God of Death. A small, exquisite garden filled with the sweetest lilies and chrysanthemums.

And in all this is Victor, eager smiles and gentle touches. Victor, who tells Yuuri story after story from every lifetime he has seen. Victor, who lets Yuuri braid the lilies of the garden in his hair, and presses a flower of Hades into Yuuri’s hands for him to keep eternal.

(Victor who, in all this grandness and silence and endless landscape, is alone.)

Yuuri is never allowed to stay in Hades for long; Victor always returns him to the upper world before sundown. He walks Yuuri to the edge of the forest and bids him a safe return home. Even with everything he has freely given Yuuri, everything he has shared, Victor seems resolute that Yuuri belongs in Thriasian, surrounded by sunlight and warmth and life.

But Yuuri returns to his cottage and finds he misses a soft voice in his ear. He turns his hand over and remembers how gently Victor had touched him.

Thriasian is where he has lived all his life, but Yuuri has come to realize it is not here that feels like home.

 

It is a quiet, overcast afternoon when Yuuri broaches the subject. They are in the garden, and Yuuri reads quietly while Victor lies resting on the grass.

“Why do you not ask me to stay?” he asks, almost stumbling over the words in his rush to get them out.

Beside him, Victor has stilled, arm slipping away from his eyes. He turns away. “I would not presume to keep you.”

Yuuri looks at him then, though all he can see is the sharp cut of Victor’s cheek and the starlight hair that falls over his eyes. He sets down his book, reaches out, brushes away the fringe so that Victor will see him.

“I want to,” he says, with all the sincerity he can muster. And Victor stares up at him with disbelief and uncertainty, but in his searching eyes there is hope. Yuuri lays his palm against Victor’s cheek, and smiles. “Tell me to stay the night.”

“Yes,” Victor says, rushed, breathless, as if he is afraid Yuuri will change his mind. He clutches Yuuri’s hand to his skin and sits up, and in this moment Victor does not look like the God of Death, but like any other man. “Yes.”

 

Yuuri returns home in the morning, well after the sun has risen. He stands in his small front room and looks around, at all the little pieces of Victor and of Hades that lie scattered around. The flowers, the gifts, the cloak that he wears everywhere.

He stands in his small front room and thinks about the little pieces of Victor that have made their way into his heart.

Victor has asked little in return for everything he has given, and Yuuri has always felt that there was little he could offer to the immortal god of the underworld.

He knows better now.

 

He visits his mother the next day, tells her everything. Hiroko looks at him for a long moment, and Yuuri tries not to fear the worst.

But then she reaches out, takes his face in her hands. She smiles.

“If this is what you choose,” she says, “then go. I have seen the fates of those who find themselves in the favors of we gods, but my son, I know yours will be a happy one.”

Then Hiroko bundles him into her arms. Yuuri leans into her gladly; to him, she has always been warmer than the Thriasian sun.

“Thank you.”

 

Yuuri returns to Hades in the twilight. This time he does not wait for Victor to come to him; Yuuri takes the path to the underworld alone. But Victor still meets him in the fields of Asphodel, worry creasing his brow.

“I would have come to you,” he chides, reaching out and drawing Yuuri closer.

And Yuuri laughs, shakes his head. “No need,” he says. He lifts a hand to press it against Victor’s cheek; Victor leans into the touch easily. For all the muted sunlight and the cool winds of Hades, Victor has always been warm.

“What do you want?” Victor asks, eyes searching. His hands loosen from Yuuri’s sides, as if preparing to let him go.

The sun shines down on the fields of Asphodel and around them, the flowers stretch for miles and miles. Yuuri slides his hand down to rest over Victor’s heart.

“Ask it of me,” he says, because he knows now that in the same, careful way Victor had made sure Yuuri never ate food of the underworld, hadn’t let Yuuri remain too long in this silent kingdom -- Victor would never ask if Yuuri did not allow it. And so Yuuri looks up, meets Victor’s eyes, and smiles. “Lord of the Dead, ask me to be yours.”

There is a long moment, in which Victor looks at Yuuri, eyes wide and lips lightly parted. And Yuuri would never have thought a god might look so lost.

“Stay with me,” says the God of Death, so uncertain and hopeful and fervent. “Stay here, in Hades; remain at my side. And I swear to you that I will give you all that I have the grace to give, over each lifetime and until the stars crumble.”

And Yuuri -- wants to tell him that he has no need for such grandiose promises and proclamations, that Victor simply need ask him to stay by his side and it would be enough. But he says none of that, simply leans up and kisses him.

“Yes,” he says, all certainty and all sincerity. He pulls back, brushes the hair from Victor’s eyes. Against his skin, Victor’s hands tremble, but he does not let Yuuri go.

“Yes.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Come say hi on social media -- I'm [@okw_tr](https://twitter.com/okw_tr) on Twitter and [okwtr](https://okwtr.tumblr.com) on Tumblr. I'm most active on Twitter, where I post updates on my current projects (mostly VLD right now, with some Haikyuu and YOI) as well as AU/HC threads.


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